GothBoy
by blackmonday
Summary: This is Jack and his steam featuring his many philosophies and observations. It centers around being rich, an enemy of the Xiaolin temple, and of course, being a Gothboy. Series of oneshots. Not meant to be taken literally.
1. GothBoy

**AN: yeah. I just need to blow off some steam. So I'm writing this piece on the many moods of Jack Spicer. And this is not meant to be taken literally. It's supposed to arouse questions and stuff like that. And this is much more than it is on the surface.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or anything of that manner.**

Gothboy

Yeah, I walk through the mall with uncertainty, unknowing of what to expect. I don't even know why I come here. I can have all the clothes and technology I want delivered right to my door.

And everyone knows it.

They can tell by my designer wristwatch, my thousand dollar combat boots, and my state of the art engineer's goggles. And everywhere I go I hear jeers of "Fucking Poser!" "Rich Bitch!" and "Wannabe!" from the Goths who do nothing but that and obviously don't have a life. Or at least the one they do have just happens to be centered on the god of Hot Topic.

I make a left at the bridge and beside me is Hollister.

They laugh as they see me. I'm such a loser. And others just stare. What's a rich kid doing dressed like a hobo? What kind of reputation does he live up to? And then there are the others that actually realize who I am and just nod their heads in disappointment, fully knowing the extent of my father's displeasure in my tastes.

But the one thing both these groups have in common is me. They see, they target, they rule.

But what do I care? After all, I'm a Gothboy.


	2. RichBoy

**Disclaimer: don't own Jack or xiaolin showdown or anything else except this really.**

**AN: 2nd installment in GothBoy. sorry it took so long. I'm wondering if I should make this like my other fic and have it all tied in at the end… hmm.. can I get your opinions? I also need a few suggestions for what side of Jack I should do next. I have Heylin Boy and Genius Boy. Anything else you'd like me to cover?**

Rich Boy

I sigh. I have been forced to attend one of my dad's numerous company parties. Or rather _ga-lahs_, as my mother calls them. I sigh again. This party is quite pointless. It's just a mess of politicians and CEOs getting together to pull some strings. You know, buddy up with one another, say, "Hey Mr. CEO of WhoCares, you've been a good friend of mine since we were boys, why don't we strike a little deal with advertising and world domination, ey?" I sigh another time. Honestly! If you're going to attempt world domination, at least do it with a bang, so that you'll at least be heard of. Something like a little portion of stolen Shen Gong Wu?

And then there's that other reason my parents force me to come to these parties. I bet you were wondering that, weren't you? My parents would be able to crack the power holders in no time without me. Well, these parties aren't always about gaining power: they're about showing the power too. These gatherings are your times to stand up and make the world fear you in all your glory.

It just happens to be that my parents show off through their kid.

Oh yes, their son, ole Jacky boy, is quite the catch. He's a genius you know. He's built hundreds of robots (that were all destroyed) and mas made at least 40 plans of investment on controlling the mass media (translation: he wants to take over the world). He's also quite the musician. He's been playing guitar for nine years of his life (and if it weren't for his love for metal, he would be sick of it). Yes, really. And he composes too (yeah, heavy earsplitting brain fucking metal). Oh, he's quite the versatile boy (meaning he actually likes to think about a topic other than business unlike his airhead father). His music creativity also gives him a touch of philosophy. He is very in touch with his emotions and accepts them so well (also known as being excruciatinly emo). He'd certainly enjoy being a psychologist (or a psycho) like you, Doctor. Speaking of which, Doctor, how about that daughter of yours? She's about Jack's age, right? Yes, why don't we introduce them (have them get married, elope, make me richer), you know? Oh, yes, she's outside in the pool. Yes, thank you for telling her to dry up. While we're waiting, why don't you entertain us, Jacky? I'm sure the Doctor would love to hear one of your preludes?

I sigh. Again. I keep sighing. It's becoming quite the habit. You know, I'm tempted to play my heavy earsplitting brain fucking metal prelude that I wrote, but for the sake of my robot funding, I'll play classical stuff. Stupid Spanish composers. One last sigh, and I simply start to play.


	3. GeniusBoy

**AN: Okay. This one is about how being a genius kinda fucked up Jack's life, but also made it really nice at the same time. Beware of random allusions to random books, which are listed in the disclaimer, which nulls the purpose of this AN sentence. This one is a lot longer than the other two, of which I'm only half proud. I'm not sure if the quality is as good, but that's for you to decide and comment on (to me preferably!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of the affiliated characters. I also don't own the Age and intelligence quote, which belongs to Eoin Colfer from Artemis Fowl: The Lost Colony or the term Anleh which is found in the Kiesha'ra series by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes.**

GeniusBoy

"Genius! Simply Genius, Mr. Spicer. Your brilliance is simply astonishing! No, phenomenal! I wish to commend you on your efforts, little Jack. Your intellect is simply astounding!" Those were the first words spoken concerning my report card in Kindergarden. Most kids in my class coulndn't comprehend a word Mrs. Robinson said. Phenomenal was too many syllables. The school immediately promoted me—to the fourth grade. They said it was in the best interests of the school to do so. Yeah, the interests of the academic awards for the Westley Award of Curriculi and the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC) Blue Ribbon award, both of which they won that same year.

Also in that year, I was entered in numerous contests and won plethoras of awards. I won the WhizKid Regionals, States, and Nationals competition; received runner up to the Bashkir Computer Science Award for Young Intellectuals, second only to the one known as Kimiko Tohomiko; won Anleh's Trophy for Creative Writing; aced the equivalent of the SATs in six different countries, three of which did not have to be translated discluding American English; and played my guitar at Julliard's Public Conference, by invitation only. All at the tender age of five years old.

Even if they promoted me four years, the grade was still really easy. I sped through the lessons like a NASCAR driver. Fractions and sentence structures were way behind my years. "Age is detrimental to intelligence," once said a favorite genius of mine. I was always so bored in class. I used to complain to my dad (when he actually used to care) about this. He had asked I be promoted to the fifth or sixth grade, but they refused. There was something about "not being emotionally or socially ready for the trials of the modern pre-pubescent lifestyle."

Fuck that.

I wasn't even emotionally ready in Kindergarden. Remember how I was bored in fourth grade? Yeah, I was so bored in Kindergarden I could fall asleep in class and still ace the lesson. In fact, there was one instance where I did. The problem was that when I woke up to wash my hands for lunch, I looked in the mirror and realized there was an inky substance upon my face that formed words and pictures. For example, on my forehead read the word "Loozer" in that manner exactly. I had cried to the teacher about it, saying something about the psychological damage to my fragile and most absorbent brain. She assured me it was just child's play. I didn't believe it. Why would I? Any peon dumb enough to write "Loozer" on my head must have some motive for it. Or that's what my five year old head thought. I was the smartest kid after all. And Ricky was known for nothing but a bully. I confronted little Ricky and kicked his sorry butt back to "Loozerville." I also boasted him out for having such a dim and base personality. Yeah, then they really wanted me to go to fourth grade.

And then in fourth grade, I felt completely out of place. It's not like being the shortest or youngest by far would have any long-term psychological repercussions. And as a matter of fact, considering that this is the FOURTH GRADE I'm in might help also. You know how fourth grade is: "You're my friend! No, you're my friend! Ew! That purse soooo doesn't match with that Barbie lipgloss. Who in the world likes school? Only the _nerds_ do. It's time to D-d-d-d-dd-d-dd-d-DUEL! Haha! You're such a girl about guns! A whiny, stupid girl!" It was just so… secular. Not only secular, it was just so shallow. Their behavior sickened me. I really wanted to die because I was so tired of hearing them shriek about the most irrelevant to life subjects. Who cares if your purse doesn't match your Barbie lipgloss? You look terrible in either anyways! And why is it time to D-d-d-d-ddd-d-d-d-d-DUEL? Does it even matter.

In my plight, I attempted to build a microchip that would take over my "peers'" brains and transform them into high-class, sophisticate, intelligent human beings instead of that… other species of horrible screamers. This is how I really started to get into robotics. I would tinker with random parts my daddy's friends left behind from their factories (and sometimes from my mansion's own hardware). I failed at that microchip, but the robots became my friends. Seriously, the robots were awesome. I mean, they were awesome to play with at dodgeball, shopping at Best Buy became a hit between my and the guys, and having a friendly argument was cake-walk for them. Over time, the robots kind of became my gang, so to speak. My posse. I had my own posse.

Before the end of fourth grade, I dropped out of school. I just gave up. I had already started reading books on Biochemistry and A.P. Physics during Christmas break (and I finished them both). I was going to drop out of school anyway. My dad had a business transfer to China and wished to oversee his company profits there. My parents had wanted to go as a familiy but were reluctant to tear me away from my treasured familiar surroundings. Yeah. We boarded the first first-class plane we could find to China once we got our stuff in gear (which, with the servants helping wasn't that long).

Once we had settled in our third year at China, my dad gave me a very large surprise: he gave me my first professional laboratory. It was actually the basement of the mansion, but Dad knew of my interest in robotics and had retro-fitted the area into my OWN personal professional lab. I was overjoyed. Dad promised he would never go into the basement unless I permitted him to. It was an act of trust.

The problem with the lab was, that I never really spent much time outside anymore, or any time with anyone else. My skin went from naturally pale white to gray and pasty from the lack of sunlight and fresh air. My eyes frequently turned red due to the late night robot building and the toiling work. My social skills were even further imbalanced.

And then I realized the real reason my dad gave me that lab. He wanted me to build, not really for myself, or for leisure. He wanted me to build for awards, for profit. If he could patent robots of the kind I built, he would be a millionaire. If he could win awards in robotics, funding and profits would raise as would fame. If he could make money off of me, he'd do it.

I was furious with him.

That sorry bastard was using me for his own greed. He tried to explain to me that all of his greatest minds in the work force were not as creative or useful as the one son he had, the one son he would pass his empire to when he died. The little fucker was sugarcoating his devious words in my brain. The jackass was trying to play me, the "genius, great mind son". I wasn't listening. The lab wasn't for my joy. It was for his! I tried to explain to him that robotics was just a hobby, that it wasn't anything real. He told me no, it wasn't! What did I think that he was doing, giving me this lab without any product? This lab was his investment in me. Then he said I was a pathetic excuse for a businessman—that I had no mind for the workings of the economy and the technological betterment of society. He said I was stupid.

Further and further inside myself, I became more isolated from face-to-face contact with people. I began living in my basement, not willing to concede to my father's wishes, and yet, not willing to be defeated by his insult. My social issues deepened further. I talked to an online psychologist. He said I was on the verge of becoming a sociopath. I said I didn't care.

I still continued with my life, though. An adolescent can only take so much time in self-thought. I didn't want to end up with Narcissus Syndrome. So, I talked to strangers online. I read my magazines. I tested the limits to my genius. I watched TV. But most importantly, in this process I received a special puzzle box, with a ghost inside. I had crazy adventures regarding magical objects of importance to world domination. I met people I guess one could regard as my friends. And now at sixteen years of age, I am in love with evil. Being a genius really does have its perks.

**So, what do you think? Your thoughts really do make my world go round. Please? Sorry it ended so fast and crappily, though. I really couldn't think of much else to put.**


	4. Mama'sBoy

**AN: This is kinda a Zuko from Avatar inspired life. You know. Like how they both wear red and black and instead of a scar, Jack has eyeliner and how they're both überly rich… yeah. I'm officially nuts. It is also partially based on stories I get from friends and stuff like that.**

**AN2: umm... there's this one part that contains a bit of lemon… so just be careful of that. I'll mark the section in italics just for your convenience. Enjoy (or at least try to XD) Sorry to those that didn't see the italics. I forgot : ( My negligence.**

**AN3: Yeah. I'm doing a different style on this one. A series of one-shots within a series of one-shots that all tie in together at two separate ends. Okay, so it's not THAT different. Except this one is a chronological event progression on Jack's relationship with his mother rather than random perspectives.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any XS. If I did, Jack would be making out with Chase and/ or Rai SOMEWHERE in the show. Even if it's in a tiny pixel in the background XD and there would be an episode where the gang would have to tell Omi the "secrets" of life

* * *

**

Mama's Boy

* * *

A six year old boy stood at the edge of the sidewalk clinging to a suit and tie clad woman as he was screaming, "But mommy, I don't want to go into that classroom. They'll treat me with such insubordination! Mommy!"

The woman smiled at her son and in her most loving, gracious and calming voice spoke, "It'll be all right, Jack." And that was all he needed to go inside.

* * *

A seven year old boy with bright red hair sat by the couch, once again crying, "Mommy, Kat bit me!"

A woman with short blonde and curly hair approached the boy and said, "But, dear, she's seven, like you. She wouldn't bite you."

"I want my mommy!"

A woman with the boy's equally flaming red hair walked into the playroom, "Jack, what's going on?"

"Kat supposedly bit Jack. It's quite cute."

The woman with red hair was astonished. "Cute? That girl has been biting, bruising, and strangling poor Jack every time she sees him. Why, Tina?"

"She has not been hurting Jack! Why would she, where are the marks?"

"They're right in front of your face. Can't you see he's frightened when he sees her?"

"That's only because Kat portrays a sense of dominance in company."

The woman with flaming hair and now face turned from the other woman and walked over to the small boy, scooping him into her arms. "If you don't mind, Kat and Tina, Jack will be staying with me from now on." She left the scene and entered once again into the party with her little suit clad son in arms.

* * *

A ten year old boy sat on the covers of his bed at three o'clock, tinkering with his alarm clock, soon to be Part 1-A68FJS0-D9-3J9-BD94-LJ-4 on his Goldberg morning system.

A lady came into the room saying, "Jack, dear, why don't you go out and play with the children of the village. I'm sure they'd love to play with you."

"It's okay mom. I got the bots."

"But, what about the other kids, dear? Is it a communication problem?"

"Mother, you very well know that I am currently fluent in 9 different languages other than British and Americacn English along with Chinese Mandarin and Cantonese and I am currently working on my pronunciations in the Gaelic and Russian languages. I simply prefer to work on my robots, that is all. It's a lot more fun. Now, if you would please exit my room. I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to finish this recording converter. I'm planning on shaking up some of dad's old vinyls by chords."

The lady was shocked. "Okay then, Jack. Suit yourself." She slumped out of the room disappointed that her son willed robots over people, worried that he might turn out _different_.

* * *

A twelve year old boy stared in the vanity in front of him. He had flaming red hair and was wearing a ratty trench coat, a Frankenstein cut-off tank, black jeans, steel toed boots, black biker gloves, custom made spiral working goggles, and most awkwardly, thick globs of eyeliner with a single spike trailing down his left cheek.

His mother walked into the room, firstly surprised to actually see him in the room, for he was usually in the lab; secondly surprised to see him in his outfit. The boy turned to the door expecting a mother's load of bull crap on how Goths are bad and why guys shouldn't wear eyeliner.

She simply smiled. She said she would accept the way he looked no matter how crazy or spectacular it seemed, as long as he didn't go over his moral boundaries. After all, he wouldn't have gotten that outfit if he hadn't been talking to _somebody_.

* * *

A thirteen year old boy sat at the foot of the pure white bed of the hospital room. He hated hospital rooms: They freaked him out. Maybe it was his obvious displacement of the consistently white room as he was still clad in his traditional all black.

A doctor approached the boy and his father, furiously staring at his clipboard like his life (and others') depended on it as the patient on the bed had her eyes closed. "She's not good, but she's not bad either. She's in the middle of the three main transitions into breast cancer. She's going to be all right, but we'll need her to choose an option."

"So, what are they?"

"I'd rather do this when you, your wife, I are alone, Mr. Spicer—for the sake of those that might be worried." He quickly shifted his eyes to the boy and then to the father.

"Mr. Spicer isn't the one that asked." The boy said, and shortly afterwards muttered, "Asshole," just loud enough for his father to hear.

The father glared at the son and in conquest stated, "I'm sure that would be most appropriate, Doctor. I'm glad you appreciate my concern. My son isn't the most credible person to talk to in these times of intense pressure. He has enough to worry about with school and all."

The boy muttered again, "Yeah, the school I don't have."

Simultaneously, the Doctor, who had noticed the familiar looks in the boy's and his father's faces, exclaimed, "Oh really, Mr. Spicer. I had a background check done and it was apparent to me that your son was not registered at any of the local schools and was completed with a Ph.D. in Robotics, and Master's Degrees in both Psychology and Anatomy. In fact, upon recognizing these details, I believe that Jack is the perfect one to talk to in times like this. How's next Thursday at four?"

Still shocked, the Spicer father grumbled, "It's quite fine." The boy smiled in triumph.

And the patient, hearing the whole conversation, smiled as well.

* * *

A fourteen year old boy crouched upon his swerving chair at his desk in his room. He had been crying.

"Can you stop swerving? It's making me dizzy!"

"Whatever."

"Y'see, there it is again, the 'whatever.' It's just like teenagers these days. The level of apathy is so high in your generation. I'm worried about the world's future. But you can rise above that Jack, I know you can."

"But—"

"DON'T," the boy cringed, "interrupt me when I'm speaking. That is so disrespectful of you. I can't believe you. First you refuse to clean your room and now you're dressing like a Devil Satanist Goth. What is wrong with you? I only want the best for you—"

"Mom! Shut up!"

"Young man, you do not talk that way to me. I am your mother and you give respect to me. And what is it with all this 'evil boy genius' stuff. What are you trying to say? Are you wicked? Are you really so demented and so bent on destroying the world? I knew from the moment I let you wear those clothes and go out with those… what're they called… Xiaolin Dragons of yours that it'd be nothing but trouble. They think they have actual powers! Can you believe that? You're a man of science, boy. Get your head straight. They're all crazy. I'm tired of you, Jack. If I've raised a boy who doesn't care about the world, and is so crazy to dominate it," she paused as she started sobbing wildly, "Then I'm a failure as a mom."

The boy left the room. She didn't understand. She never did. Because it wasn't her.

* * *

_A fifteen year old boy sat on the couch in the living room beside the piano. His mom told him he would play it later. Damn knew why the hell he would have to. The only reason he actually touched the piano was because it helped him get a different sound for composing, especially when it came to his keyboard. You sort of had to know one and the other to get the better of the learning experience. _

_And that's when the guests walked into the room._

"_Jack, dear, you remember Kat and Tina. Tina, her husband, your father and I will be discussing a business contract in the office, so we'll be in there if you need us." The boy's mom motioned to another girl coming in with Kat, "And this is Kimiko Tohomiko." She paused and asked, "It's Kimiko, isn't it?" The girl nodded and the mother proceeded, "Her father and your dad are planning on making certain investments in the toy and robot business. For dinner, Mr. Tohomiko was wondering if you would like to join us all for dinner at a very fine restaurant he found recently here in China and was also hoping you'd like to talk a bit more about your expertise in robotics."_

"_Oh yes," said the Japanese father, "I could really use your type of ingenuity. From what I've heard, you've made a life-sized shape shifting boy very similar to my own. It would be nice to hear from a fellow builder. Kimiko's doesn't have the penchant for robots. She'd rather do her own bidding in the world of hard drives rather than the robots."_

_And only after the company was shown out of the room and into their respective socialization areas did the mother say to her son, "You better get one of these girls to like you. After all, you are quite the catch," she laughed. Then she gritted her teeth and added, "as are they."_

_A sixteen year old pale boy lay on the covers of his king sized mattress in his lab. Below him lay a friendly Japanese girl, and under her lay a familiar Brazilian boy; and they were all wearing…well, nothing. They were all moving up and down, and it felt good. Suddenly, the Brazilian boy fell on top of the pale boy, and the Japanese girl was pushed to the boy's side. _

"_Damn, Pedrosa, that fucker is HUGE."_

"_Yeah, but you still know how to work it, Spicer."_

_The lone female groaned in pleasure and whispered in a husky voice, "Y'know, I wouldn't mind you taking over the world if every night was like this." The girl, with hands of expertise, traveled down the pale boy's core and onto his member, coaxing it into the Brazilian Boy as she began traveling down there herself for her mouth to work on. As well, the Brazilian boy gave room for the girl as he shoved Jack's tongue into his own mouth._

_And then his mother walked in._

_The trio stared at the woman who had just opened the door to his lab. They had no clue what to do. Sensing the woman's discomfort, the guests gathered their clothes and shuffled out of the lab by way of the jet entrance where they had parked the Silver Manta Ray._

_Jack never did tell his mom he was bisexual.

* * *

_

A seventeen year old Goth boy was sitting at the edge of the window in his laboratory. He was wearing a white button-up long sleeved shirt, a dark blue vest, and khaki pants. He wore no eyeliner, but blue contacts to mask his unseemly red eyes. He wore no jet black boots, but brown loafers.

His mother was urging him to go inside the house. He shouted that he didn't want to. The clothes made him feel so conformist and unreal. It made him feel unlawfully subordinate. The woman, clad in a dark blue evening gown, smiled at her son and said that he looked dashingly all right and proper, and not to make too big of a scene. After all, this day was special.

And that was all he needed to go inside.

"Happy Birthday, Jack."

* * *

**Eh. I hope this wasn't too bad. Tell me what you think.**


	5. FanBoy

**Disclaimer: I don't own. Duh.**

**AN: I'm SO sorry for not updating in forever. I wrote this at eleven last night while watching Adult Swim. I highly doubt it's actually okay. But yeah. Enjoy. This is dedicated to mistique-serenity who gave me this AWESOME idea. But this time, it isn't from Jack's POV. You'll be able to tell whose. I have faith in your intelligence.

* * *

**

_Knock, knock._

My night-meditation is disturbed. Tche, whatever.

_Knock, knock, knock._

I don't think I'll pay any attention to it.

_Knock…KnockKnock…Knock, Knock… KnockKnockKnockKnockKNOCKKNOCK_.

Ugh. What mongrel could ever think of knocking at this time of night? I get up and check the security cameras. I just had them installed. ESP is sometimes a bit hard, especially after a few hours' worth of deep meditation. It's Jack. I sigh. It's not even worth opening the door.

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!!!!!_

But that incessant knocking! Very well. I might as well entertain Spicer before sending him off as usual—which happens to be with a few cuts and bruises. I push the button on the door and it slams forward on Jack. Heh-heh-heh. I'm such a masochist.

"Enter, Spicer," I say with my usual bored drawl.

Jack gets that idiotic look on his face and squeals, "Hi, Chase-buddy. Great to see ya! Say, what do you think of—"

"No, Spicer, I will not be your 'evil partner-buddy.'" I add air quotes for effect. "Didn't we already have this conversation?"

Jack Spicer laughed. He laughed at me. That was unexpected. "Nice try, Chase-baby." He snapped his fingers and pointed at me in that slinky way of his. "But that's not what I'm here for."

"AH!" He squealed. I pounced on him and snarled.

"Don't call me 'chase-baby.'" And this time, I didn't use air quotes. My hands were too busy clenching Spicer's throat.

He squints his eyes and attempts to struggle out of my grasp. "Okay, okay. I give. Just let me go?"

I release my grip on his throat slightly, but still remain forceful on my hold down. That was my mistake.

Jack pulls me down into a brief kiss and clicks his camera phone into the scene. He immediately throws me off and runs out screaming "I got a picture of CHASE YOUNG KISSING ME!!!"

I sit there in shock. Jack Spicer is such a FanBoy.

* * *

**It would be nice to realize that my endings are a lot better than last time, because I have problem. So how are my endings? Reviewing is nice. XD**

**AJ**


	6. BiBoy

**Ah! It's been forever since I updated this. BiBoy is really a deeper version of scenes from Mama'sBoy, GothBoy, and even FanBoy really. It's not really my best quality, but it rings a bit truer to my heart than most of this. Well, I'm still a virgin if you're wondering that after reading this, but it's simply Jack's reflection.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own.**

* * *

Sometimes, I have to reflect on my integrity. 

Yes, haha. Laugh. It's okay, because I know that integrity and evil somehow don't match. But that's okay, because my integrity has nothing to do with my being evil.

Because it's the integrity to myself.

You see, a couple years ago, I found out that I was bisexual. I found out when I first started fucking Raimundo Pedrosa and Kimiko Tohomiko. It was a wonderful time to realize my sexuality. Awkward, yes, but wonderful all the same.

And after that time, I announced it to the world. My attitude became bisexual; my posters featured my bisexuality; even my MySpace stated my bisexuality.

But there was one place I didn't display my bisexuality—my parents.

You would think I would tell them first, get their blessing and all that. Or at least my mother, as being quoted as a "Mama'sBoy." And you would think that I would be keeping it real to myself, as a GothBoy. And you would even think that I would take it to Chase—well, I did that. But all the same, it just doesn't feel… I don't know.

I'm pretty sure it feels right. Telling the entire world about my sexual orientation wasn't as bad as I thought it was. And it certainly doesn't feel wrong. I'm not sinning against anything… stupid Leviticus 22:18. But I'm evil, doesn't matter…. Right?

But yes it does. My brain hurts. It's hard to figure this out. Should I shut up about my bisexuality? Why? Kat doesn't shut up about being so damn heterosexual? And the people on Lifetime or whatever random channel my mom watches that features gay guys doesn't shut up about being homosexual, so why should I?

Then again, if I'm not going to tell my parents, who is worth telling? That would be a funny story. "Hi honey, you're home! Who's your friend? Oh, it's a guy, it's okay." And then an hour later "Jackie! What is that thumping noise down in the basement? I hope you're not breaking anything?" And it most certainly isn't the bed. And then my mother would come downstairs, unlock the basement and find me and my partner sprawled on the bed naked. Yeah, hilarious. But that already happened with Kim and Rai. Um… yeah, let's cross that off the list of options.

You might be wondering how I got out of that situation. Well, it's actually quite simple. My mother took me to a counselor and we figured that all I needed was a good "heterosexual experience" and I'd be home free. I dated a girl for 9 hours of my life and it was all good. Of course I wasn't bisexual anymore.

When should I end the sarcasm?

Maybe one day, I should just seriously come clean. We'd be at the dinner table talking about trickle down economics and I'd clear my throat and whister ever so quietly, "Mom, Dad, I'm bisexual and I can't really change that."

On one hand, there would be utter silence, and the sound of my mom crying. My dad would ask her what's wrong, and she'd say nothing—only that she's so proud of her little baby to come out so boldly and that it takes a real man of courage to do so. And my dad, in silent glory would stare a bit and sigh murmuring something about being "half-gay."

And on the other hand, there would still be utter silence, and then my mom crying. My dad wouldn't ask her what's wrong, and instead stand up, knock the chair down and yell at the top of his lungs, "Look what you did, you ingrate! You made your mother cry! Take it back right now, you filthy fag!" And afterwards would come a string of curse words I dare not repeat because it would hurt me so much. And then he'd tell me to go to my room and think about what I've done. Forever more, my dad would shun me and my mom would just cry.

The latter of the two seems the more likely to occur.

And after that reflection, I don't think my integrity is so important after all. Some things are better left unsaid in this world.

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**So, thine opinions, my good ladies and gentlemen of this fine world? On the topic or on my writing style is quite acceptable. The scenes also might be a little confusing in transition, so if you could comment on how I could fix those as well. Flamers will be known as pig-sucking hinds of canker-blossoms.**


	7. HeylinBoy

**AN: HeylinBoy... one of the final oneshots in the GothBoy series. I think I like this one a lot. Especially the Ice Cream, because ice cream makes everyone's day a little better. This is just a little insight from basic Taoism and stuff.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown, but I bet with a little coercing, I could do much to own Jack's boxers and maybe a little more ; ) just kidding. I can't own shit.**

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Detect Shen Gong Wu.

Find Shen Gong Wu.

Spot Shen Gong Wu.

Fight Shen Gong Wu.

Lose Shen Gong Wu.

It's the same thing every time. Is it just me or have you noticed that as well?

From losing the Shen Gong Wu, I can go one of several ways. The first and most frequently used option is to go home and cry over heavy metal, fixing robots, and some Jamoca Almond Fudge Ice Cream from Baskin-Robbins. Second, I can ride home on my heli-pack with Wuya and listen to her incessant whining of my uselessness and incompetence with my iPod in my ears under my goggles, hair, and trench coat. Third, I could immerse myself in the Internet (specifically fan fiction. Those things are addicting!) and not associate with anybody until my brain is sore from the computer screen and I can't think coherently, thus erasing memory of the previous day's loss. Fourth and lastly, I could somehow devise an evil plan to steal back the Shen Gong Wu. After all, that changing chopsticks thing was quite brilliant if I do say so myself.

Still, I don't exactly remember the point of doing this anymore. Sure, I could trace back to when I first met Wuya, who had coerced me to the believing there were magical objects from ancient times that enabled the user to powers beyond all mystery. I could even go back farther to the point at seven years old, when my young intellect wandered to mind control and eventually world domination. But what do those instances matter? I have tried and failed so many times that some part of my brain would have had to override.

Unfortunately, this is not the case and I still vie for the ever-elusive evil victory over the Shen Gong Wu. Still… Why?

I thought it for a while and I have found an answer: Hope.

Ironic, no? Hope and evil. Integrity and evil. Next thing you know I'll be spouting jargon about rainbows and bunnies out of my mouth. But this hope is different. It's a desperate hope. It's a purpose. Shen Gong Wu gives me something to live for.

Don't get me wrong. Hunting Shen Gong Wu isn't just a hobby I do when I'm bored. If I wanted a hobby, I'd be working on my robots day and night. Though I do that already, I've always needed something more—something to distract me from the reality of this world, I guess, from my stuck up parents, from my isolated life.

And in this distraction of reality, I've found something that minds could hardly dream of ever existing. I play a part in the fate of the world. It seems almost yearly or bi-yearly that the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of the choices that the Xiaolin Warriors, The Heylin Brotherhood, and I make. In this fairy tale of sorts, I just happen to play a role as a villain.

A villain. It's so necessary for the story of our lives. It's the balancing force that keeps the world in check. That keeps life living. It's what makes sad so dreadful from the joyful, and joy all the more precious when we get it back again. It gives the Xiaolin Warriors purpose as an example to the peace and happiness as humanity strives to understand in full value, and thus what they try so hard to protect. It gives us fences and boundaries so that we know where we are. Without boundaries, we are lost and we have no way to get back to our original standpoint. From the reference point of a fence, we know just how far away we are. From the reference point of a villain.

Detect Shen Gong Wu.

Find Shen Gong Wu.

Spot Shen Gong Wu.

Fight Shen Gong Wu.

Lose Shen Gong Wu.

For what? For Hope. For Hope of What? For the hope of tomorrow—where Yin and Yang can side by side coexist without the threat of the other, with the balance that keeps the world in harmony of ups and downs, in tears of laughter and of despair, in Life.

Maybe that's why Chase never tries in vain to overtake the Xiaolin Warriors, because he knows how it will all end. That's why Wuya has tolerated me for so long, because she simply exists to keep the balance of the darker side of the world. And that's why Hannibal Bean was eventually defeated, why Chase deems Dashi a fool, as was I in both sentiments countless times before but never will be after.

Detect Shen Gong Wu.

Find Shen Gong Wu.

Spot Shen Gong Wu.

Fight Shen Gong Wu.

Lose Shen Gong Wu.

Chuckle, smile, and say "See ya next time."

And Maybe I'll drop a carton or two of Jamoca Almond Flavored Ice Cream from Baskin-Robbins for the Xiaolin Warriors to cry on the next time—when I win.

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**AN: So How do you like me now, son? ...okay, even I admit that was a bit too weird. But whatever. Constructive Criticism over praise any day of the week.**

**Much randomness, blackmonday**


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